That Infamous Pearl

by Alicia Quigley

  "You show that you have no idea at all of his true character," Rowena continued airily. "If you did, you would not make such foolish statements. Length of acquaintance, even one as long as your age permits, does not mean you know someone, Lady Bingham. I trust you will keep that in mind."

  Marguerite's eyes narrowed dangerously, and she took a step closer to Rowena. "You are very confident, my lady," she said softly. "But I believe you have much to learn. Length of acquaintance does have its value in knowing how much to trust a person. I hope you do not discover that your trust in your husband is misplaced."

  Rowena ignored Charles, who was tugging anxiously on her arm. "At least my husband can be counted on not to spread unwarranted gossip," she snapped. "Whatever his other faults, he tells the truth."

  Marguerite colored. "You might find the truth disagreeable, Lady Brayleigh."

  "No more disagreeable than I find you," snapped Rowena. She abruptly turned her back on Marguerite and bent a warm smile on Charles. "I think I could use a glass of lemonade."

  "Certainly. Glad to oblige." Charles, with a wary glance at the fuming Marguerite, escorted Rowena hastily out of the knot of people who had drawn about to witness the confrontation. He gave a sigh of relief when they reached the opposite side of the ballroom.

  "I wish Alaric had been here," he said feelingly. "She wouldn't have dared to cause such a scene if he was."

  "That is exactly what I tried to tell him," responded Rowena. "It is necessary for us to show the world that the stories are empty lies."

  Charles wiped his brow with his handkerchief. "Well, you certainly defended yourself well. I daresay Alaric will have something to say about this when he hears of it."

  Rowena frowned. "Do you think he will be upset?"

  "He'll be furious," Charles assured her in a heartfelt tone.

  Rowena shrugged. "It is entirely his own fault. He is playing into Lady Bingham's hands. I certainly hope he does not intend to scold me! I will not tolerate it."

  Charles gave her an admiring glance. "Allow me to procure that glass of lemonade for you." He bowed politely and moved away.

  Chapter 21

  Rowena waited, playing idly with her fan and hoping no one would approach her. The confrontation with Lady Bingham had upset her more than she wished to admit, and she had no desire to exchange idle chitchat with the others at the ball. It was now necessary for her to stay and show a good face to the assembled crowd, but she longed only to go home and crawl into bed. Perhaps she should have listened to Alaric. It had been ridiculous to think she could take on the gossip mill without him at her side.

  "Lady Brayleigh?"

  Rowena started and looked up to find Lord Voxley standing in front of her. She stepped sideways a pace, a guarded look on her face.

  "What do you want?" she asked crossly. She was in no mood to bandy words with Lady Bingham's cicisbeo.

  Lord Voxley bowed politely. "I regret to inform you that your aunt has had an attack. Mrs. Allenton is with her and begged me to fetch you."

  Rowena regarded him suspiciously. She had good reason to distrust anything Lord Voxley might tell her, and this could be another attempt to cause mischief. But if Lady Belmont had witnessed her exchange with Lady Bingham, she might very well have had one of her famous spasms.

  "Why did Mrs. Allenton send you?"

  "I was the only person nearby," answered Lord Voxley promptly. "She has taken your aunt onto the terrace for some fresh air. Mrs. Allenton is concerned that she might need to go home. She begs that you come immediately."

  Rowena paused. "Very well. I will go to her." She moved towards the large French doors leading out into the garden, and stopped abruptly when Lord Voxley walked with her. "I will go alone. I have no need of your escort, sir."

  With an unrepentant grin Lord Voxley bowed again and allowed her to proceed without him. She hurried towards the doors, hoping this would be a good excuse to leave the ball early. Lady Belmont's attacks were usually annoying, happening as they did at awkward moments, but Rowena thought that tonight she would be grateful for her aunt's weak nerves.

  Rowena pushed the tall glass doors open and stepped out onto the terrace, looking about her for her aunt and Mrs. Allenton. The terrace stretched out on either side of her for a considerable distance. She could see no sign of Lady Belmont, and she stepped out into the moonlight, looking about anxiously. She shivered as the night air played over her shoulders and moved to her right, thinking that they might be sitting on one of the benches nearby. The moon was new, a tiny silver sliver in the midnight sky, so it was very dark, and long shadows were cast by the sculptures ornamenting the walkway. Rowena shook herself impatiently, fighting off a sense of uneasiness. What could happen so near to a crowded ballroom?

  Suddenly she felt herself being grabbed from behind, a strong arm wrapping about her waist and a large hand covering her mouth tightly. Her eyes widened in surprise and then she began to struggle, kicking with all her strength at the solid body that clutched her. She felt one foot make contact with a leg and she heard a muffled oath.

  "Wildcat!" said a masculine voice. "Damn it, stop fighting."

  The words only made Rowena angrier, and she raised her hands, struggling to reach behind her and scratch her captor's face. One hand came into contact with his hair, and she gave a sharp tug.

  "Hell! Rowena, stop it. I mean you no harm. I have to talk to you."

  The voice was faintly familiar to Rowena, as though she had heard it long ago, and she paused for a moment, seeking to capture the memory. The man seized this opportunity to release her waist and grab her hands in one of his instead, putting her on her feet and turning her so she faced him. He kept his other hand firmly over her mouth. Rowena found herself looking up at a very tall figure, broad shouldered, long-limbed, and slender. His face was hidden in the shadows, but she could see that his hair was dark blonde and his skin very fair. His was not dressed for a ballroom, but rather in travelling garb that looked somewhat foreign to Rowena's eyes. But when he spoke his voice was clearly that of an Englishman.

  "If I let go of your mouth do you promise not to scream?" he asked. His voice was of medium timbre, agitated now by his activity, but seeming to hold more amusement than threat. Once again it caused something to stir in Rowena's memory and she peered up curiously, hoping to pierce the shadows. She nodded slowly.

  "Good girl."

  The hand was slowly lifted away from her mouth, but it continued to hover nearby in case she didn't keep her promise. Her wrists were still caught in his hand, but he eased the pressure slightly so that his grip was no longer painful.

  "What do you want?" she asked in a fierce whisper. "If my husband, Lord Brayleigh, hears of this, he will be furious. You had best let me go right away."

  "That is exactly what I want to talk to you about," answered the man. "Your husband."

  "Brayleigh? If you want to know something about him, you must ask him yourself," said Rowena tartly. "We have only been married a short time."

  "I know. I regret that. If I had known earlier that you meant to marry him I would have found a way to stop the wedding. By the time I heard, it was too late."

  Rowena was startled by the depth of anger reflected in the man's voice. She shifted her position, trying to see his face.

  "What do you mean? I married him willingly."

  The man gave an annoyed grunt, and Rowena tapped her toe impatiently. "Who are you? And what right do you have to interfere in my marriage? For that matter, what right do you have to seize me in this manner? Brayleigh will be very angry."

  "If he cared about you he would be here to protect you!" The man's voice shook with anger. "That is another thing I will punish him for."

  "My husband's absence or presence is a matter between him and me. I fail to see what business it is of yours, especially since I have no idea at all who you are." Rowena's fear was fading, as the man evidently did not mean to harm her, but her impatience was rising. He seemed to bear a grudge a
gainst Alaric, but was unwilling to divulge its cause.

  "Don't you, Rowena? Are you sure you don't know me?"

  She peered up at him, perplexed. "Your voice seems somewhat familiar, sir, but I do not recall when I might have heard it. And I cannot see your face, as you are perfectly aware. I am certain you are intentionally hiding yourself in the shadows."

  The man laughed. "You always were pert, Rowena. Very well, tell me if you recognize me now."

  Still clasping her wrists in one of his large hands, the man moved out of the shadows of the building and out onto the terrace, where the thin moonlight could shine down on his features. His blonde hair was unfashionably long and framed a face that, although marked somewhat by dissipation, was remarkably handsome. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and generous lips that curled now into a questioning smile. His eyes were very blue, and as Rowena looked up into them she felt a sudden shock of recognition.

  "Well?"

  "You...you look a little like my father. You have his eyes."

  The man laughed. "And your eyes are like your mother's."

  Rowena drew in her breath. There was something so familiar about this man that it frightened her. "Who are you?" she demanded.

  "Come now, Rowena. Surely you must recognize your own brother. Twelve years isn't that long a time."

  It seemed to Rowena that the entire terrace swam before her eyes, and she felt her knees begin to buckle. She fought to regain her balance. It was Malcolm! This stranger who was somehow so familiar was her brother.

  "I'm sorry." Malcolm's voice was solicitous and he hastily released her wrists so he could circle her waist with his arm. He steadied her as she swayed slightly, trying to absorb the news. "I shouldn't have surprised you that way."

  "You're Malcolm?" she whispered, scrutinizing his face. But she knew as she asked it that the question was redundant. Now she could see the very strong resemblance to their father in his strong nose and brilliant blue eyes, and his cheekbones were the mirror of her own. His coloring was a few shades darker, but he was, unmistakably, her brother.

  Malcolm gave her a little shake. "You're not going to faint on me, are you? I always thought you were a spirited little thing. The years haven't turned you into a shrinking violet, I hope."

  Rowena drew herself together. Not for anything would she have her newly discovered brother think her a coward. "Certainly not. I was merely surprised."

  "I suppose it must be a shock. The black sheep of the family appearing in the middle of one of the Season's most anticipated entertainments." Malcolm gave her an engaging smile. "Lord, it's good to see you, Rowena. I've been away too long."

  Rowena drew in her breath. Her elation at seeing her brother had given way to a native sense of caution. "I don't mean to sound as though I am unhappy to see you, but why are you here, Malcolm? You must know that you will be arrested if the authorities find out you are in England. This is far too dangerous."

  Malcolm frowned down at Rowena. "Let's sit down," he suggested. He led her down some steps into the garden, and over to a bench that was partially shaded by a towering shrub. Rowena seated herself, looking up at him expectantly.

  Malcolm placed one booted foot on the bench and gazed over her shoulder at the dark garden. "I've been thinking for some time about returning," he began. "It was all very well for a few years, living by my wits, earning my keep at the gambling tables, tasting the delights of Paris and Rome, travelling wherever I pleased. But twelve years is a long time, Rowena. A long time to pay for something I didn't do. When I heard father died last year I realized I was the new Earl of Wroxton. I remembered that I had a sister in England, and that I had once had a life and friends there. I wanted to come home."

  Rowena hesitated. "Cousin Felix is the new Earl. Everyone presumes you are dead. I thought you were until a few months ago."

  Malcolm laughed derisively. "That is easy enough to reverse. I have the papers to prove I am indeed Malcolm Arlingby. Besides, no one looking at me would think me anything but my parent's child. And Wroxton is mine, Rowena. Why should I let someone else have it?"

  "But you didn't come back then," said Rowena softly. "Why did you wait until now?"

  "I had no way to prove myself innocent of killing Alfred Ingram. So many people believed me to be guilty. They would have hung me, Rowena. But I swear to you, I didn't murder him!"

  "I believe you." Rowena reached out slowly and touched his hand, which was clenched into a fist on his knee. "I know you didn't kill anybody."

  Malcolm's stiff figure relaxed slightly. "I didn't think they could have turned you against me. The Arlingbys always defend one another."

  "And I will defend you," said Rowena eagerly. "I have been trying to find Ingram's killer ever since I learned you were still alive. It's a slow process, but I'm sure that eventually the mystery will be solved. You must return to France and I'll send you word when all is well."

  Malcolm shook his head. "I'm never leaving England again. Once I came back here I knew this was where I belonged. No, the entire difficulty can be handled easily. When Marguerite wrote and told me what had happened to you, then I knew that I had to return, not just to regain my inheritance, but to save you as well."

  Chapter 22

  Rowena felt rather as though a bucket of cold water had been dashed over her. She should have known that Marguerite was behind this. Who else had known where Malcolm was? And it was Lord Voxley who had summoned her to the garden under the pretext that her aunt was ill. Marguerite must have planned Malcolm's return in order to cause more problems in Rowena's marriage. As happy as she was to see her brother, she realized with a sinking sensation that his presence would make her husband very angry.

  "Lady Bingham told you?" she asked cautiously.

  "Of course. Marguerite is a great friend of mine. Oh, I'll admit that she's selfish, but she takes care of others if it doesn't hurt her in any way. She was sure I would want to know what Brayleigh had done to you. Believe me, Rowena, I will punish him. I only regret I was unable to prevent him from forcing this marriage onto you. I never thought he would seek such an awful revenge."

  Rowena looked into his glittering eyes and was frightened by the anger she saw there. Malcolm's hatred for Alaric had apparently not been dimmed by the intervening years. It was imperative that she convince him that Alaric meant her no harm. She gave a tentative laugh, hoping to cajole him into a less lethal mood.

  "This is not a very flattering picture you paint of me, brother. Is it impossible that Brayleigh might have some affection for me?"

  Malcolm turned leaned towards her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Of course not. You are far more beautiful than I had imagined you might be, Rowena. There is no man on earth who would not be touched by your beauty. But Brayleigh is no ordinary man. He would stop at nothing, nothing at all to hurt me. He has no affection to give you because he has no heart. I am sorry you were dragged into this terrible feud."

  Rowena sighed. She would have to try to reason with Malcolm, and it didn't seem as though he was in a particularly receptive mood. "Alaric has been very kind to me," she said tentatively. "He is my husband, Malcolm, and I owe him my loyalty."

  Malcolm looked at her as though she had suddenly gone insane. "Loyalty? To Brayleigh? The man has no human emotions at all. He is as cold and unfeeling as one of those Greek statues he values so highly. He cast the blame for Ingram's murder on me because I stood in his way. He forced me to flee because of a murder he committed, and now he seeks to take even my family from me. I will not permit it!" His voice rose as he spoke, thickening with passion.

  Rowena thought of how gentle, yet commanding and passionate, Alaric was when he made love to her, of the open and honest look on his face when he slept. She knew that she had to convince Malcolm to drop this deadly argument. "Alaric did not murder Ingram either, Malcolm. You are both innocent. It is someone else who is the true killer. Someone who used the two of you to gain the Pearl of Sirsi."

  Malcolm gave
a harsh shout of humorless laughter. "Poor, naïve Rowena. He has taken you in, hasn't he? He has actually convinced you that he is innocent. How he must be laughing at the two of us. My own sister sides with my greatest enemy against me. His revenge is complete!" He buried his head in his hands and stared blankly at the ground.

  Rowena looked at him in alarm. Malcolm was clearly overwrought. She could not allow him to believe she had turned against him.

  "I believe you are both innocent," she said stoutly. "I have been hoping to find the true murderer these last few weeks. Alaric even helped me."

  "He helped you in order to draw you into his web," said Malcolm harshly. "Since your marriage has there been word of helping you?"

  Rowena looked down at her toes, unwilling to admit that she had abandoned her quest for fear of harming her husband. She felt guilty for having deserted her brother when he obviously needed her help.

  Malcolm slammed his fist into this thigh. "I thought not! You see what good his promises are? Rowena, you must help me to restore my good name. Brayleigh must be revealed as the monster he is."

  "Malcolm, I want to help you. But I cannot believe that Alaric is guilty either. Surely you must see that there is another culprit." Rowena looked up at him earnestly, willing him to listen to her pleading.

  "I will prove it to you," said Malcolm fiercely. "Only you can get me the proof that I need, and once we have it we can show it to the whole world. Tell me that you will help me, Rowena."

  "Of course I will do anything that I can. But I still don't believe Alaric is the murderer. What is this proof that you speak of?" Rowena tried to keep her voice level, but her hands were shaking and she looked nervously at the doors leading to the ballroom. At any time someone could decide to get a breath of fresh air, and Malcolm's very life would be threatened.

  "The Pearl of Sirsi," breathed Malcolm. "Whoever has it is the killer."

  "I have thought of that before. But how can I possibly find it? I have no idea where it is."